


A Dark and Stormy Night: A Demon's Ghost Story

by Zab43



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Imagination, loss and longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24737119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zab43/pseuds/Zab43
Summary: After the Apocalypse that wasn't, after Ligur's death, Hastur lurks alone on a dark and stormy night - or is he alone?
Relationships: Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Kudos: 10





	A Dark and Stormy Night: A Demon's Ghost Story

**Author's Note:**

> Ghost stories are more for Christmas and writing one on a bright sunny afternoon felt weird, but it's been rattling around my head for a while and needed to get out. It's quite sad too...

It was a dark and stormy night. In fact it was very dark and very stormy. The wind howled through the trees sending leaves and smaller branches flying. The rain came down in sheets, whipped up by the wind and thrown hard against the outer wall of the tomb.

Sheltering inside Hastur smoked and listen to the noise. He was streaked with dark patches of water, some stray leaves had got caught in his wild hair and mud caked his boots. The storm had come on suddenly, lightening cutting through the heavy skies followed by an ear-splitting crash of thunder and a torrential out-pouring of water. He’d been hanging about in the graveyard when it struck and had made for the shelter of nearest tomb.

Now he was inside he wasn’t sure what to do. Lurking in a graveyard on his own was one thing, hanging about alone in a tomb was quite another. He hadn’t been inside a tomb since the failed Armageddon, since his world had crashed down around him, since he’d lost Ligur.

He was reminded of ‘their’ tomb, musty with half-composted leaves, decaying corpses in rotting coffins, the smell of his cigarettes and his partner’s own particular musky odour. If he closed his eyes he could still imagine he could smell Ligur, hear his breathing, his low rumble of approval as Hastur had told him of his deeds of the day. He stood, eyes closed, opening his senses and letting the memories flood in.

Outside the storm raged. The wind made a high keening wail as it sought a way in through the gaps in the vaulted roof. A stray gust managed to find an entry and stirred the pile of dry leaves in the corner. Hastur’s eyes snapped open at the noise coming from inside the tomb. He caught the edge of a movement and he jerked his head round.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He knew it couldn’t be Ligur, knew that he was alone in the tomb, but for a split second in the darkness he thought he saw the shape of shoulders and a dark head rising in the corner. Then it was gone as the gust of wind died and the leaves settled back down. A trick of the darkness. A mean trick.

He closed his eyes again, recreating the familiar scene. His partner sitting, back against the wall, watching him. Eyes flickering between dark orange and red as he listened to Hastur talk. He didn’t need to speak to show his interest, Hastur had known he was hanging on every word. Enjoying hearing his voice, no matter what the words were, what the story was about. Occasionally he’d let out a low appreciative growl when the story reached a particularly evil part.

Hastur’s eyes flew open again. It was a noise that had startled him this time. So like Ligur’s growl, so clear he knew, just knew, his partner was there, so near he could reach out and touch him. When he opened his eyes he was sure there had been a movement too.

It was still now, but his senses told him that something had stirred and lay still as soon as it had realised he was watching. The wind continued to howl and a larger tree branch creaked, making a low sound almost near enough to Ligur’s growl to have fooled him. Almost.

Hastur shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was being foolish. Ligur was dead and gone, melted to a pool of goo at his feet. He wouldn’t hear that growl ever again, wouldn’t see those eyes change colour in front of him. The colours signifying his partner’s changing mood and emotions. He’d loved looking into those eyes.

He closed his own eyes again, lost in the memory of their time together. He took a breath in relishing the familiar scents of the tomb. The musty leaves, the noisome smell of rats huddled together in a sarcophagus, nibbling at the near skeletal contents, the damp wood of the coffin.

He got a hint of another smell, something warm and familiar, it stirred his memory. That was Ligur’s smell. Again his eyes opened desperately searching the tomb for the source of the smell and again it was still and empty.

As he forced himself to close his eyes to concentrate on the smell he was sure there was a movement, just as his eyes closed. This time he didn’t open them to look for the source. He stood, eyes closed, unmoving, concentrating on the smell. It was still there, stronger now he’d identified it.

When he heard the growl again he forced himself to keep his eyes closed. This time it was nearer. He was almost sure he could feel the movement of someone breathing close by. So close that if he reached out a hand maybe he could touch them.

He kept his eyes tight shut and reached out blindly. There was nothing there. His arm fell to his side, defeated. A wave of despair hit him. What was he doing standing alone in a tomb trying to summon the spirit of his lost partner? This was ridiculous.

He still kept his eyes shut, breathing in the smell, letting his mind be tricked into thinking he could hear Ligur’s growls, feel his presence. He could feel tears forming behind the closed lids. He was shaking with barely suppressed emotion. It was so real, so near, surely it must be true.

He reached out his hand again. This time he was sure there was something just out of reach, so close that one tiny step would bring his hand into contact with it. It took all his self-control to stand still and not to open his eyes. He didn’t dare to move or breath and he screwed his eyes tight shut. Anything to prevent the illusion being dispelled. He needed to believe in this if only for a brief time.

His arm was starting to ache as he held his hand out just millimetres from the invisible thing he knew was there. He was sure it was Ligur, was sure he could feel his chest rise and fall in time with the breaths he was certain he could hear. Just out of reach, but so close. It was real, he knew it was. He didn’t have the imagination for this to be a trick, it must be true.

After what seemed like an eternity he felt a real movement against his finger tips. Something had touched him. Unable to prevent it this time his eyes flew open. There was nothing there. He couldn’t hold back the sobs, tears of frustration streamed down his face. He’d been so close, he had touched him, why wasn’t he there?

Hastur took a deep breath in. He closed his eyes again but this time nothing happened. Whatever cruel magic had created the previous illusion it was gone now. He became aware that outside the stormy winds had died down, it sounded like the rain had stopped too.

Opening his eyes for the last time he blinked away the tears. He wouldn’t cry. There was no point. Nothing could be changed by emotion. No matter how much he wanted to believe, desperately tried to call his partner back from the void by sheer force of will, it wasn’t going to happen.

He sniffed, wiping his sleeve across his face to remove the evidence of his tears. Turning to the door he saw something just inside the entrance. It was a button. He was sure that it hadn’t been there before. Bending down he picked it up.

The shape of it was familiar, the edges slightly rounded from years of wear, the threads still caught in the holes where it had been torn off. He recognised it immediately. It was the same as the ones on Ligur’s coat.

He was hit by a confused wall of emotion. If it was Ligur’s button then he must have been here. It had to be real.

His rational side quickly created an explanation. The familiarity of the button was coincidence, many such buttons existed. The wind had probably blown it in while he’d been foolishly stood there with his eyes closed, pretending he could feel something that wasn’t there.

That must be the explanation. There couldn’t be any other. Ligur was gone and no amount of wishing could change that. Then again it had seemed so real. He was sure his imagination wasn’t good enough to have made it that real. There was also the button.

He sniffed the button. It didn’t smell of anything, or of anyone, but then again it was only a piece of plastic why would it? He put it carefully in his pocket. He might not be able to prove it was anything other than a fantasy but he was sure in his own mind that it was Ligur’s button.

He left the tomb and walked out into the graveyard. The clouds had blown over and a bright moon shone on the tombs casting long deep shadows. He turned as he reached the lychgate to take one last look at the tomb. It stood still and silent, illuminated clearly in the moonlight. The doorway was outlined by the inner darkness.

As he turned away he thought he saw just the edge of a darker shape move inside the tomb. He didn’t look again. Couldn’t bear the thought of looking back and seeing nothing. Instead he walked briskly through the gate and along the path away from the graveyard.

He couldn’t help but think the weather had been to blame. High winds howling through the trees, creaking branches, stinging torrents of ice cold rain. Easy to confuse unexpected movements and weird noises with something else. He must have been mistaken.

Then again, possibly even the spirits of demons needed to shelter from the elements sometimes. He would come again the next time it was a dark and stormy night and maybe, just maybe, he could make the spell work again if he believed in it hard enough.


End file.
